


Con Artist

by ArchOfImagine



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Actor!Steve, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Friendship, Fluff, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, artist!Bucky, fan conventions, nudist!Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2019-09-30 11:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17222996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchOfImagine/pseuds/ArchOfImagine
Summary: Bucky Barnes, fan artist extraordinaire, finds out that his favorite actor (ahem,Steve-f@#$ing-Rogers) is going to be at his next scheduled convention. Can he really spare the money to buy a photo op? Well... maybe fate decides he doesn't have to wait that long. Maybe fate is also a dick and conspiring with one Sam Wilson to embarrass Bucky for the rest of his life.And, seriously, why does Steve Rogers just keepshowing upevery where Bucky is?!





	1. Rose City Comic Con, part 1.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little pet project of mine that will essentially be a lot of buddy/pals Sam and Bucky, awkward!Bucky, and fluffy!Stucky. 
> 
> But also like... just all the awkward, right?

Bucky moved through his apartment, stepping over random boxes and cat toys. They had just moved into a larger space… not that you would know it based on the amount of shit on the floor. “Sammy? Have you seen my tablet pen?”

He rounded the corner and spotted his roommate sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room space (the couch was still covered in boxes). Sam was naked, like he always was when he was at home, dark skin a blemish free canvas that Bucky was always more than a little jealous of. Pudding, their brown and tan cat, was curled in Sam's lap, purring and kneading his paws against Sam's thigh. The fact that Sam let claws that close to his naked junk was probably the most insane part of the whole thing. 

“Haven't seen it,” Sam replied, not looking up from the sketchpad he was working on.

Bucky arched an eyebrow. “Are you _sure_ about that one?”

“Yup.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky walked over and pulled his tablet pen from where it was precariously holding some of Sam's dreadlocks in a bun. Sam looked up and blinked, before shrugging and going back to what he was working on.

_Roommates._

“I got the confirmation for Rose City. Are you planning on sharing the space again?”

“Yes, please,” Sam replied. “I'm hoping to get this Poe art finished in time. I just finished the line art.”

Bucky wiggled for a moment, going from foot to foot as he worked up a bit of nerve. “Did you see who they just signed for it?”

“No.”

“Um… Steve. Steve Rogers.”

Sam finally focused his attention on Bucky, expression a bit unreadable for a moment until he started to grin. “Your fave. How opportunistic…” 

Bucky watched the grin start to get a little wicked and shook his head, pointing his pen at Sam. “Don’t you dare. I know that look! I am not dealing with your meddling, Samuel.”

“I would never.”

“You would, and you have. Now… I’m going to go finish this damn commission list if it kills me. Interrupt me for food, will you?”

Sam shooed him away with his hand, already focused back on his own art.

* * *

“Tuesday is the flight home from New York. Thursday, back on a plane and headed for Portland.”

Steve frowned over his cup of coffee, thinking for a moment before looking over to where his assistant was walking next to him. “Why not just fly directly from New York to Portland?”

“I—” Peter paused, scanning through his phone for a moment. When he looked to Steve, his shoe caught on a chunk of concrete and he almost fell, if not for Steve’s swift motion to catch his arm. Peter righted himself, brushing off his shirt as if he had actually fallen. “I can get that changed,” he quickly said, holding his phone back up and staring at the screen. He had stopped walking, right there in the middle of the sidewalk, and he whispered quietly, “I think I can get that changed.”

Glancing back at Peter, a few steps behind, Steve couldn’t help but notice the New Yorkers that were passing the young man and huffing at the way he had just stopped walking in the middle of pedestrian traffic. 

He let out a soft sigh and carefully steered Peter towards a nearby coffee shop. He probably shouldn’t be having more caffeine, but at the rate his assistant was going… well, he was going to need something to help him pull through.

* * *

Though he hated to admit it… art was not his fulltime job. He was almost there ( _almost!_ ) thanks to the help of commissions and his newly active Patreon account, but there was still a small need to help cover the extra expenses of life. So Bucky spent his evenings (and non-Convention weekends) working at his best friend Natasha’s fancy restaurant downtown. His title was officially ‘waiter’ but he did everything from bartending to cooking when they were short-staffed. It was a thankless job, yes, but Nat allowed him to take time off when he had a convention, without much fretting. She understood that one day he was going to make it big (hopefully…) and leave her fancy blue aprons in the dust.

On the Wednesday night before Rose City, he was wearing his bartender apron, because the regular guy had called in sick, but wasn’t particularly upset by the development. Wednesday’s were a lighter crowd and he got better tips when people were drinking. He noticed two guys walking in on the bar side of the restaurant and frowned as he watched them closely. The taller of the two was wearing a baseball cap, pulled down low over a pair of sunglasses (inside!), and the shorter was scratching nervously at the back of his neck and stumbled a bit as he sat down on a barstool. 

Bucky wasn’t an idiot. He had seen enough to know when underage college kids were trying to look old enough to pass for twenty-one. He tucked his towel into the pocket of his apron and walked the length of the bar down to where the two men sat. “Gentleman,” he greeted. “What can I get you?”

Hat guy glanced up. “Is it still happy hour?”

Bucky glanced at the clock over the bar, before looking back and nodding. “Got another twenty minutes.”

“I’ll have a Coors Light draft, then, and an order of mozzarella sticks, and one of the slider trays.” He diligently put the menu back into the metal contraption that kept them standing at incremental spots on the bar top.

Bucky turned his gaze to the smaller guy, who looked from the menu, to Bucky, and then back. _Flustered,_ was the only word for it. 

“I uh… I’ll have the same. Wait, no. Can I get the house rum and Coke? And the slider thing. French fries, too. No cheese sticks.” The guy set his menu down and looked back to Bucky. “Easy on the rum?”

Biting back a snort, he nodded. “Sure thing. Can I see some ID’s, guys?” He waited patiently as the fumbled with wallets, then grabbed short dude’s when it was held out first. _Peter Parker_ from California, was officially twenty-two… and a _half._ And five-foot-eight, according to the DMV, but Bucky was suspicious of that, by a couple of inches. “Thanks,” he said, handing the driver’s license back to Peter and then reaching for hat guy’s. 

At first he thought he was looking at a fake license. Because the name said _Steven Grant Rogers_ and there was no way he had seriously carded his movie star crush. Scratch that! There was no possible way his _movie star crush_ was sitting in his fucking bar! But the picture staring up at him was definitely Steve Rogers… those blue eyes were unmistakable. Which meant… which meant… 

Bucky looked up in time to see hat guy ( **STEVE. FUCKING. ROGERS.** ) remove his sunglasses. 

His last coherent thought was that the camera didn’t do those blue eyes justice.

“Holy shit,” he whispered… and then promptly passed out.

* * *

“I am so fired.”

“Peter, the only one that can fire you is me. Why would I fire you over this?”

“I'm an accomplice to you killing a man!”

Bucky woke with a groan, voices too loud around him as he tried to understand what was going on.

“Shit, he's awake.”

“Language!”

He cracked one eye open, just enough to see a short guy peering at him while worriedly gnawing on a fingernail.

He did not remember falling asleep. Definitely not in a bright room with weird nervous dudes hovering over him.

“Should I get a nurse?” the guy asked, looking over to the other side of Bucky.

Bucky slowly ( _painfully_ ) turned his head that direction. _Huh._ Apparently he was dead and heaven was some fucked up wet dream. “I'll fuck ya, Steve, but no threesomes,” he slurred. Why was talking so hard?

“Oh my God,” the voice from his right whispered.

Steve stared down at him, looking a bit dumbfounded. Wow… he was even pretty when he was speechless. Bucky grinned. “Let's get married. Ya wanna? Ma wants grandkids.” He tipped sideways, trying to see over the side of the bed he was on. Probably not a good plan, considering how dizzy it made him. “Whoa.” He grabbed onto a very muscular bicep and giggled. “You got baby-bearing hips, Stevie?”

Not-Steve squeaked out, “I’m gonna get a nurse!” 

Bucky continued to ignore whoever the other person was. He didn’t care about nurses or onlookers. Laying back against the bed once more, he held his hand out towards Steve, feeling needy for a friendly touch. “My head hurts, Stevie,” he whimpered.

Tentative fingers entwined with his, and finally Steve spoke. “I’m sorry it hurts. You took a nasty fall, but it’ll get better.”

“Ho- _ly_ shit.”

Steve looked up towards the door, so Bucky slowly followed his gaze. When he saw who was standing at the entrance of the room, his face lit up. “Sammy!”

Sam moved into the room, eyes drifting from Bucky to Steve to their hands curled together. 

Bucky wasn’t nearly as speechless as Sam appeared to be. “Sammy, you came for me!”

“Of course I did. I’m your emergency contact for a reason, Bucky.”

When Sam stepped up to the bed, opposite of where Steve stood, Bucky dropped Steve’s hand and leaned forward into Sam, who quickly wrapped Bucky into his arms. “My head hurts, Sammy. I wanna go home.”

“I should go,” Steve said, voice a bit nervous. “I’ve gotta— yeah, I’ve gotta go. Feel better, _Bucky._ ”

If Steve rushed out of the room a little faster than normal, Bucky didn’t notice. He was too busy snuggling up to Sam as close as possible.

A nurse came in not long after, adjusting Bucky’s IV and checking his bandage. She promised that the doctor would be by in an hour to check him out and clear him to leave. After she had left, Sam looked down at Bucky, arms crossing instinctively over his chest.

“I know you’re a little out of it… but why the fuck was _Steve Rogers_ in your hospital room?”

“ _Stevie,_ ” Bucky replied, voice a bit wispy. He looked around the room with a frown. “Where’d he go? We were gonna have _babies._ ”

Sam snorted. “You were, huh?”

“I love him,” Bucky whispered. He gripped Sam’s arm and gave him a _very_ serious look. “Sammy, I _love_ him.”

“It’s like Beauty and the Beast.”

“You take that back! Stevie is _not_ a beast.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head and patting Bucky’s shoulder. “I am going to have way too much fun with all of this in the future.”

* * *

The next day, Bucky woke up with a throbbing headache. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to figure out why he had gotten drunk the night before. There was no other explanation for the way he was feeling. 

Arms wrapped around his stomach, pulling him closer to the solid line of a strong body. His brain initially flashed the name _Steve_ , before he remembered that he wasn’t living in a dream world. He rolled on his side to face Sam, peeking one eye open to smile at the mess of dreadlocks falling all over his best friend’s face. They _must_ have gotten drunk. Sam only got cuddly when someone died or he was drunk. 

He decided going back to sleep was a good plan. He had commissions he needed to work on, but he wouldn’t be able to focus if his head hurt. 

As he started to drift back into unconsciousness, he crinkled his brow. Why was he so stuck on Steve Rogers? Just because the celebrity was going to be at the convention in a few days, didn’t mean that Bucky would even get to see him. It wasn’t like he could go around spending shitloads of money on photo ops or autographs.

He pushed aside the thoughts and tried to relax. 

Steve Rogers was a worry for another day.


	2. Rose City Comic Con, part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempt for this year (along with my yearly 'outta my league' word count goal) is to post once a week here on AO3. Two weeks down! Whether or not this keeps up... is anyone's guess. But here... have some goofy stucky meet!cute continued.
> 
> And a million confetti kisses to the person that draws dreadlocked!Sam as Aquaman.

Steve spent the rest of his ‘down’ time in Portland in his hotel room. The experience at the bar (and hospital afterward) had really done a number on him. _Bucky_ had done a number on him. It wasn’t the first time someone had passed out in front of him — you didn’t do a large number of fan centric events and conventions without one or two light-headed people dropping at your feet — but it was the first time he’d had the time to follow through on the aftermath. When he had watched Bucky drop… heard the crack of a head hitting bartop and leaned forward to see the shock of blood beginning to drop… well, he hadn’t thought twice about demanding to accompany Bucky to the hospital.

What he really hadn’t expected, though, was for Bucky to get so sweet and endearing when he was a bit doped up. It was charming, in a way that Steve didn’t let himself experience nearly often enough.

There was also another part, a part he tried not to dwell on. 

Dating in Hollywood was a nightmare. Paparazzi were constantly waiting for the next celebrity to do something trashy and make a scene that was going to earn big bucks. 

Being _gay_ in Hollywood was damn near impossible. It influenced the types of roles that would become available… and also the fan reception of those roles. 

Which is why most gay actors stayed carefully hidden in the closet. Ignoring a part of themselves and hiding away the men and women that they loved. Articles about Steve Rogers called him _intensely private._ In reality, he just knew that he couldn’t be himself without dealing with the backlash.

There was also his newest contract. Three months back he had signed a multi-movie contract with one of the largest comic book producers in the world. They were starting a new universe of characters that would span over multiple movies and years. And Steve was going to be their headliner. It was an opportunity he had waited his whole career for… after doing multiple indie gigs and cult-favorite movies.

He could remember the wording of his contract _very_ well, though. (All participating talent accepts that any negative publicity matters will be grounds for termination of this contract.)

_’The world isn't ready for a gay superhero, Steve Rogers, so keep your dick in your pants.’_

He was _very_ good at that. Celibate like a priest. So why had one male fan in a hospital bed left him so speechless?

* * *

Bucky was seriously considering finding himself a new roommate. Since it was a con week, their normal Thursday night D&D game had gotten nixed in favor of getting all of their final prints and other goodies sorted out. They weren't alone, though. Since it was normally game night, their friend Clint had gone ahead and showed up, carrying boxes of pizza and Dr. Pepper, his dog Lucky trailing in behind him and then immediately going off in search of Pudding. 

It took exactly two minutes for Sam to tell Clint everything that had happened at the hospital the night before. Bucky didn't remember any of it, but had already heard the story three times (Sam had called Bucky's mother as soon as they woke up… then his sister. And his own mother, Mama Darlene.) 

“This crazy fool was snuggled so close to Steve Rogers, I thought the dude was gonna call security. They were _holding hands,_ Clint! Rogers looked so uncomfortable. It was the funniest thing I've seen in my life!”

“I hate you both,” Bucky grumbled over the laughter.

Sam's face lit up. “I bought him a photo op.”

“What!” Bucky turned to his friend and immediately frowned, face heating up in embarrassment. “Samuel Wilson, you did no such thing!”

“Shit, man,” Clint spoke up, “too bad we won't be there to see what happens.”

“Oh, I have a plan for that too. Two autographs. Figured I'll get him to sign one of my prints. Follow Bucky through the line and see how that shit plays out.” 

“I am **not** getting his autograph! Besides… who would watch the booth while we're both gone?”

Clint raised his hand. “Right here.”

“You aren't getting out of this, Bucky. Just stop trying.”

“I hate you both. I’m going to call Natasha. At least she loves me.”

Sam shook his head, dreads rocking in their ponytail. “If you think Natasha won’t side with us, you’re an idiot.”

The sad part was, Sam was completely right.

Bucky huffed and went to his room, flipping them off over his shoulder when they laughed at his retreating form.

* * *

The best part about Rose City Comic Con was its location. Conventions right their in Portland allowed him to spend less on travel and thus gain more profit. There was also the fact that all of his local friends would show up at some point to say hello.

The downside was always his time management. Something about local conventions made his brain think he had more time for prep than he actually did. 

All of that being said, he made it to set-up without much issue. It helped having Sam and Clint there… even if he did still hate them.

His photo op was scheduled for Saturday afternoon, leaving him all of Friday to fret over it. Unfortunately, when Sam had ordered the autograph, they had been almost sold out and so it was scheduled for Sunday afternoon. He would have to see Steve _two days in a row._

Surprisingly, Friday was swamped with people pretty much consistently throughout the day. Usually Fridays were a wash. 

The fact that Sam was sitting there shirtless, cosplaying as the new Jason Momoa version of Aquaman probably helped, though.

“I'm gonna walk for a bit while there's a lull,” he told Sam, tucking his wallet and phone in his pocket before sliding out through the gap between their booth and their neighbor’s. Sam waved him off, still mostly focused on his print that he was drawing. 

Bucky wasn't a big fan of cosplaying himself, but he had to appreciate Sam's dedication to going all day shirtless. It wasn't exactly warm in the large air-conditioned convention center. 

He browsed the other booths in Artist Alley, before making his way along one of the slightly less crowded corridors on the south wall. He had caught the scent of fresh kettlecorn earlier and was on a mission to get a bag of his own.

Which is probably why he didn't notice one of the side doors opening and a group of people walking right into his path. He noticed them at the last second and swerved to walk around them… only to run smackdab into a wall of muscle. He stumbled back… probably would have fallen on his ass if not for a quick hand shooting out to grasp his arm. He blinked, realizing suddenly that all of that muscle belonged to _Steve. Fucking. Rogers._

“Fuck,” he cursed, under his breath. 

Steve smirked like he had heard exactly what Bucky said. “Hello, Bucky. Trying to make it two ER visits in one week?”

His jaw dropped. Steve ( _fucking_ ) Rogers remembered his name? What the hell! “Um.”

“How's your head?”

He reached up for the spot on his forehead where there was still a bruise and two stitches hidden beneath a couple butterfly bandages. “Better,” he managed. “Been like a bad hangover.”

Steve nodded, completely ignoring the aggravated looks of the people around him. “I wasn't expecting to see you here.” He pointed at the badge hanging around Bucky's neck. “I haven't seen that one. What is it? VIP?”

He looked down, and it took him a second to remember what his badge was for. _Oh yeah._ “Artist, actually. I have a booth in Artist Alley. Me and my roommate. He's the jerk that picked me up. Apparently you met him.”

“Right.” Steve smiled, and when someone in his entourage tried to gain his attention, he held up one finger at them, as if to say _one more minute._ “I wish I could convince them to let me stop by and see your art, but I think my security detail might have a coronary.”

“It's okay,” Bucky waved it off like he wasn't having an internal freakout. “My douchebag friend bought me a photo op and autograph with you, so you'll probably be tired of my face _very_ soon.”

“Nonsense.” Steve leaned closer, lowering his voice so that only Bucky could hear, “How could I get tired of the man who wants me to have his babies?” Steve stepped back, winked at Bucky's dumbfounded expression, and waved as he moved over to the group waiting not so patiently for him. “See you soon, Buck.”

* * *

He forgot his kettlecorn. He forgot where his booth was. He forgot his _own fucking name._

Unfortunately… he began to remember all that his traumatized and drugged brain had tried to forget.

Holy _shit._ He had never in his life been so thankful for Sam's chronic tardiness. If his roommate had seen him _propose_ and then _check Steve's hip size_... Bucky would definitely be moving out. Pronto.

Fuck! How was he supposed to face Steve again, now that he knew exactly what kind of idiot he had made of himself? 

At least Sam wouldn't be there. Until Sunday. When he would watch Bucky go face to face with Steve again. Steve. The Steve that _remembered_ Bucky's name. 

Fucking— 

“Uh, Bucky? You in there?” 

He looked up, surprised to see Clint standing next to him looking concerned. While eating kettlecorn. “Motherfucker!” Clint's eyebrows raised and he took the slightest step back. Bucky shook his head… if he didn't start acting normal, Clint and Sam would pressure him for info as to what happened. He was _not_ that stupid. “Sorry. I got distracted and forgot to get my own bag of popcorn.”

“Oh yeah? Is that why you've been pacing back and forth down this aisle? Looking like a lost puppy?” Clint motioned over his shoulder, “you're scaring some of the locals.”

He noticed some of the people running nearby booths were watching him warily. Probably worried he was a thief. “I uh… I sent a cool print earlier and was trying to find it again. Could have sworn it was this aisle. Guess not.”

Clint held out the open end of the kettlecorn to him. “Guess we'll blame the lingering concussion for your temporary brain problems. Anyway, Sam sent me to find you. He's got that photo op with Jason Momoa soon and wants to go find the line.”

_Right._ He had forgotten that Sam did the Aquaman cosplay for a reason. He really needed his life (and brain!) to stop revolving around Steve Rogers. He had better things to worry about. He grabbed a handful of Clint's kettlecorn. “You wanna run grab me a bag of this stuff? I've been craving it all day and don't want to poach all of yours.”

“Only if you're sure you can find the booth on your own.” He motioned down to Lucky, who was standing supportively (practically invisible in his role as a service dog) by Clint's side. “Want to have Lucky guide you back?” 

_Yes._ “I'll be fine.” But he would definitely be getting some dog hugs later...


	3. Rose City Comic Con, part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone can figure out where Erik came from, that would be totes helpful! *side eyes his existence in this verse* I don't trust you..

* * *

\--- **The Photo Op** \---

* * *

Bucky waited in the bathroom (read: _hid in the bathroom_ ) until the very last possible minute. Which meant by the time he got to the photo op area and handed in his ticket… he was guided to line up _dead last._ The volunteer even said he was lucky he had made it in time. 

_Or unlucky._

He followed the last of the line towards the large curtained off areas. He had to wait for a few people to go, and when he finally tucked in past the curtain, he saw Steve posing with other fans and his heart skipped a bit. Two people in front of him was a mother and a little girl of about two… and when it was their turn, Steve ducked down with a wide, sincere grin. 

“Hi there, sweetheart,” Steve said, then began asking the girl for her name and how she was enjoying the convention. When it came time for the picture, Steve held his hands out to the girl and smiled as he picked her up and held her close, one arm going out to wrap around her mom at the same time. 

_God._ He was sweet _and_ hot.

Bucky was so screwed.

The next person went and then suddenly Steve was looking up and smiling at _him._

He took a couple small steps forward, just in time to hear Steve say, “Hey, Buck.”

_Buck._

“Hey,” he mumbled, shuffling forward the rest of the way. When he was standing next to Steve, he gave a nervous look at the photographer. “I don't actually have any ideas…”

“That's okay.” Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close against one side of his body. “Just smile and look pretty,” he whispered in Bucky's ear. Bucky looked up in time for the camera flash, but had no idea if he had smiled or not. When he went to walk away, Steve grabbed his wrist. “Wait, hold on.” The arm that had been around his shoulder, moved to his waist. “Another. Dip back for me, okay?”

Bucky nodded and allowed Steve to hold his weight as he dipped back in a dance pose, eyes locked on Steve's the entire time. The flash went off.

When his feet were both back on the ground, Steve pulled their bodies flush together and for a crazy moment, Bucky thought they were going to kiss. Instead, he heard the click of a camera shutter and Steve smiled. “Bring these with you for the autograph and I'll sign them, okay?”

“Oh!” Bucky's brain kicked in, “I was gonna bring one of my art prints…”

“That too.” Steve winked. “Until next time, Buck.”

* * *

Bucky ended up with _four_ photos. The three poses and one from the very last moment when Steve had winked and Bucky's face colored in a blush.

_Shit._

He hurriedly stashed the photos in a bag and ducked his head as he walked away, feeling a little guilty and a _lot_ embarrassed. 

It almost felt like Steve Rogers was conspiring with Sam and Clint to make Bucky's life miserable. Actually that seemed pretty plausible! As he walked back to the booth, clutching his ops as hard as he could without bending them, he contemplated when Sam might have had the opportunity to speak to Steve and set up such a plan.

Oh! Wait… the _hospital._

Those _bastards._

His stomach churned and suddenly the photos seemed less exciting. Of course they were making a fool of him! It was some elaborate joke to make Bucky look stupid and play up the fact that he had a crush on Steve. 

He felt… pissed. (And _no_ he was not going to acknowledge that smoldering disappointment.)

When he got back to the booth, Sam and Clint looked up at him with excited and anticipatory faces. He ignored them, stealing his features to his ‘fuck off’ face and shoving the photos down beside his computer in his laptop sleeve.

Sam opened his mouth like he was going to ask, but Bucky ignored him and focused on the fans that had just walked up to the booth, plastering on a fake smile and focusing on something other than Sam and Clint's bullshit.

* * *

\--- **The Autograph** \---

* * *

Bucky continued to wear his ‘I don't give a shit’ face the entire evening and into Sunday. In the car on the way back to their apartment, Sam finally asked how things went. Bucky answered with a firm _’fine’_ and focused back out on the passing scenery.

Sam, thankfully, got the hint.

Sunday sucked. People still showed up at the booth, of course, and still bought enough to help pay the bills, but the longer he tried to keep up his aggravated mood, the worst he felt. By the time he was due to follow Sam to the autograph line, he had a migraine and wasn't really thinking straight. 

Since he had left his photo ops back at the apartment (still tucked in their bag), he grabbed the first art print he saw with Steve's face on it and pulled it out to get signed. It was only as he stood in line that he realized he had picked the _bad_ print. The… _sad_ print.

“Shit.” He held it up and looked at it, feeling his head throb a bit more. He couldn't ask Steve to sign an image of his own characters death!

Although, it was a bit poetic.

“You're having him sign _that_? The break-up art? Seriously?” Sam asked, looking over his shoulder at the print.

_Oh yeah._ He had drawn that particular image after he broke up with Erik. Well… after Erik had used him and then cheated. And then came back. And then cheated again.

He hadn't thought about his ex in so long…

The line moved forward but Bucky barely noticed as he tried to fight his emotions. He always felt like shit when he thought about Erik. How could he not? It was his first time being in an open relationship with a man. He had taken Erik home to meet his family! Had been noticing rings in storefront windows and contemplating how emotional it would be to be presented with one. 

It was probably his headache and earlier attitude that was making things worse, but he suddenly felt on the verge of tears. He also wanted to rip the damn death print up into little pieces.

“Next.” 

He looked up and realized he was _next._ Shit. The assistant sitting next to Steve held out her hand. Steve's attention was still focused on the person in front of him in line. “Did you have something to be signed?”

“I… uh… no.” He tucked the print tight against his chest, then pointed at one of the stock photos of Steve. “That one is fine.”

The woman nodded. “Do you want it personalized? Name?” 

“Bucky,” he whispered. 

She must have heard him, because she scribbled his name on a small sticky note and slid the picture and sticky towards Steve. 

Steve looked at it, sliding it over along the table until it was in front of him, and then looking up at Bucky with a smile.

_Stop that. Stop acting like that. It's just a joke, God damn it. Let it go._

“Hey Bucky.” He looked down at the stock photo, then gave Bucky a soft frown. “What happened to our photos? Did they not turn out good?”

“I forgot them at home,” he answered in a rush.

“ _Oh._ ” Steve signed the photo, then looked back up. He motioned to the art that Bucky held against his chest. “Do you want me to sign that? I'd love to see your art.”

“I um… no. I grabbed the wrong thing.” He reached for the picture Steve had signed. “This is fine. Thank you.”

“I—”

“It was nice meeting you,” he managed, then turned and rushed away, completely forgetting that he had left Sam behind.

* * *

The rest of the weekend seemed to drag on. Now that Erik was on his mind, it was like that was all he could think about. Every other person walking past their booth looked like him, Bucky could have sworn…

That night, in bed, he pulled his phone out and searched for Erik's facebook. The man's facebook profile pic was of him and his new husband. Bucky knew from a friend of a friend that they had gotten married about six months after the break-up. Because it was just like a bastard to cheat and then marry the person he cheated with.

There was a knock on his bedroom door, and he wiped at his eyes before calling out to Sam that he could come in. Sam, who had ditched his clothes as soon as they got settled back at home, walked in carrying a slip of folded paper and moved to sit on the bed next to Bucky.

“So. I don't know what happened… you were fine one minute and then the next you were picking _the_ art. Did Steve do something? He doesn’t seem like the type to be that much of an asshole, but I mean… it’s not like we actually _know_ him.”

Bucky sighed, looking one last time at his phone, before tossing it aside “I don’t know. I got it in my head that Steve was only being so nice to me because you had said something to him at the hospital. It all felt like a hoax?” He looked down at his hands. “After Erik… why would someone…”

“Hey!” Sam reached out, putting his finger under Bucky’s chin and forcing him to look up. “Stop that. Not every guy is an asshole like your ex, okay? And sure, we don’t know much about Steve, but does he seem like an ass?” Sam shook his head. “Would an asshole have asked me sincerely if you were okay? He was so worried, Bucky, and honestly… I don’t blame him. The way you acted yesterday, it was exactly how you acted after you found out about what Erik did.”

He hadn’t realized how weird it would be for Steve to suddenly see him acting so strange and standoffish. _Shit._ “He… I have…” he ducked his head. “They printed _four_ photos. I thought it was just going to be a simple thing but he did these other poses. So I got it in my head that you had talked to him somehow and made him put on a show because I like him.”

“I hate to say it, Barnes... but I think the dude just legit likes you?”

Bucky shook his head. “How is that even possible, though?” 

“I don’t know.” Sam set the folded piece of paper down on Bucky’s lap. “But I suppose you’re going to have to figure out what to do about it.”

Bucky watched him leave the bedroom and waited another moment, before slowly unfolding the paper.

_Buck,_

_I’m sorry if I said or did something to upset you. I know this whole celebrity thing is a weird stigma and I don’t blame you for deciding if it was best to just walk away._

_But I couldn’t leave Portland without saying how nice it was to meet you. I wish life would keep throwing you into my path, because I can’t imagine a better existence._

_There are some numbers on the bottom of this page. They’re uh… they’re actually my phone number? I feel a bit insane giving them out like this (I’m pretty sure this is like rule number one in the celeb handbook of things not to do) but who knows… maybe we can help destiny along a bit?_

_All the best, Buck._

_S._


	4. New York Comic Con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a problem. That problem is this damn story. My muse is in love with it and so I guess you get two updates in one week?
> 
> Also, no, I wasn't expecting the tragic back story in this damn meet cute.

Like a crazy person, Bucky added Steve's number into his phone. Like a _sane person_ he refused to actually do anything with it. When asked about the note, Sam explained that Steve had asked him to hang around until the autos were done, and then quickly scribbled it down right there in front of Sam. So it was legit.

Unfortunately it meant that Bucky was never gonna be able to drink again, because he just _knew_ he would drunk dial Steve at the very first opportunity. 

Thankfully his time was completely focused on preparing for his next convention. Somehow he had lucked out (really, really) and for the first time had gotten booth space at both Emerald City and New York City comic cons in the same year. ECCC had been his highest profiting convention _ever_ , so he knew that New York was going to blow it out of the water. Unfortunately he was on his own for the event — Sam very rarely traveled for conventions. Well… that wasn't entirely true. He refused to _fly_ to a convention. Because he was a weirdo that hated planes.

The good news was that all of Bucky's family still lived in Brooklyn, including his menace of a sister who had agreed to hang out with him at his booth during convention days.

Since his mom would have valid (probably legal) reasons to kill him if he only showed up for the con and didn't spend any time at home visiting, he flew into town on the Monday before NYCC and begrudgingly moved back into his childhood bedroom for the week. The first two days were spent following his mom around like he had when he was eight, and then Wednesday his sister showed up around dinner time and demanded he get dressed up and go with her to a _thing_ for her company. 

Becca worked for Buzzfeed, writing articles about the latest ins-and-outs of Hollywood… a city she had only been to once, back before she graduated college. She also wrote stupid articles about the _’Top 22 Twitter Posts to Describe Your Blank’_ , an idea that their parents didn't understand _at all_. (“You just compile other people's jokes and call it writing?”)

Bucky had to admit he was a bit jealous of how great her job seemed to be, but he loved his sister and was glad she was happy. He would be too, one day when art was making him enough money on its own. 

Becca's work “thing” turned out to be an annual party in celebration of convention week. They brought in a few of the celebrities that were scheduled for the weekend and did special interviews to get people excited for the convention. 

Of course Bucky knew none of that until he walked into the Buzzfeed building wearing slacks and a button down shirt that he had borrowed from his _father._ Both of which were at least one size too big. He felt like a middle schooler going to his first dance in hand-me-downs. ( _Damn it, Becca._ ) They were one of the first ones there, because Becca's department was throwing the party, so Bucky quickly waved her off to do her thing while he found an unassigned table in the corner where he could sit and hide. 

Twenty minutes later and he was bored out of his mind. People were there and mingling but because he was no one important, no one really seemed to notice him. He had been eyeballing the pad of paper and pencils that were laying in the center of the table (tools for some kind of game, judging by the other occupied tables), for about ten minutes… and finally gave in. He grabbed the paper and pencils and after checking that no one was paying attention, began some basic linework.

He's got the basic shape of a human done, when his phone pings from where he set it on the table.

`**Steve:** What are you drawing?`

His eyebrows knit together in a frown. _Steve._ What the fuck! Bucky hadn't texted him, so how did Steve get his number?!

`**Bucky:** Did Sam give you my number?`

`**Steve:** He said you might not get the nerve to actually text me. But I wanted to hold out as long as possible.`

`**Bucky:** So why now?`

_Wait. A. Minute._

`**Bucky:** How did you know I was drawing?`

`**Steve:** Look up. By the ugly as fuck ice sculpture.`

He felt his heart start to pound in his chest. Slowly, nervously, he looked up and scanned the room. His eyes landed on the definitely fugly ice sculpture, and just to the right… Steve. _Fucking._ Rogers.

What were the odds?!

`**Bucky:** Are you stalking me? It feels like you're stalking me.`

Across the room, he saw Steve chuckle, then type furiously for a moment.

`**Steve:** I swear it's just a very lucky coincidence. How did you get invited to this thing? `

`**Bucky:** My baby sister works for Buzzfeed.`

He scanned the room again until he spotted Becca, standing in a group of people and looking like a million bucks.

`**Bucky:** She's by the fancy buzzfeed cake. Dark hair, blue dress.`

`**Steve:** Your sister is Becca Barnes?! I adore her. She's so original when she does interviews. Honestly, she's the only reason I'm here.`

_Fuck._ How did his sister have an ongoing friendship with his celeb crush and never say anything?

`**Bucky:** Next thing you're going to tell me you've bought a house from my dad. Maybe had my mom as your nurse?`

`**Steve:** Only house I own is in LA. Which hospital? `

`**Bucky:** TBH `

`**Steve:** No shit? My mom worked there. ER. Back until about eighteen years ago. Sarah Rogers. You'll have to ask your mom if she knew her.`

Bucky felt his blood run cold. He stared at his phone for a long minute, before he switched from the texting app, over to his contacts. He called his mother.

It took her a couple rings, but finally she answered. “Hello?”

“Mom.”

“Jamie? Everything alright? I thought you were going to be at the party with your sister all night.”

“Yeah, I’m here. I was just talking with a friend and they brought up something I had forgotten about.” He looked across the room to where Steve was, and watched the other man chatting with a group of people. “You remember when I was a kid, how there was that friend of yours at the hospital who got killed? Sarah Rogers?”

His mom took a quick inhale and then waited a long moment before replying. “Poor sweet thing. You know, it should have been me that night. She had taken my shift, because your sister was sick. That man… he was too far gone to understand that they were trying to help. Sarah’s the reason we have metal detectors at the door now, you know.”

He remembered the story, even if he had only been twelve or thirteen at the time. A mentally ill man had been brought in screaming and shouting, after he got hit by a cab. The good samaritans that brought him to the hospital, didn’t think to check him for weapons. When Sarah had tried to help the doctors undress him, the man had screamed in fear and reacted quickly… stabbing out with a knife he’d had tucked in his belt.

“She had a son,” Bucky said, trying to shake away the memories. “I remember hanging out with him a few times… and seeing him at the funeral. Tiny little thing, you remember?”

“Oh yes. Precious boy. Always causing trouble.”

“Ma, I can’t remember his name. Do you remember?”

“Of course, honey. Steven, remember? You called him Stevie and told him his inhaler was cool, when he got embarrassed about it. You said it made him a superhero.”

 _Shit._ “Yeah, ma, I remember now. Listen… I gotta go.”

“Behave yourself, Jamie. Don’t stay out too late!”

He said his goodbyes to his mother, before laying the phone down on his half-drawn picture. How in the world could he have been so dumb? _Stevie Rogers_ was _Steve Rogers._ The tiny kid he had pushed in a wheelchair down the halls of TBH, was the grown man that he had spent months thinking dirty thoughts about, ever since that one photoshoot that was practically porn.

“Hey.” Bucky about jumped out of his skin, as he looked up to see the man in question hovering behind the seat next to his. Steve motioned to the empty chair. “Can I sit?” Bucky managed a nod, but couldn’t seem to find his voice. Steve gave him a moment, before he pointed at the phone. “If I said something wrong, I’m sorry. You were really chatty there for a bit and then it was like you disappeared.”

 _Why doesn’t he remember me?_ Bucky wasn’t real surprised that he hadn’t remembered Steve until something reminded him about it. His memory was shit even on a good day, and he wasn’t exactly sitting around and reminiscing about his childhood, while he stressed about bills and shit. But how many people named _Bucky Barnes_ could Steve really know?

“Holy shit,” he whispered, looking back down as it dawned on him. “ _Jamie._ ”

“What?” Steve asked, more than a little confused, judging by his tone.

Bucky glanced back up. “No one called me Bucky until high school. Before that I was _Jamie._ ”

“Ohhh… kay?”

He shook his head. “ _Jamie Barnes._ My mother is _Winnie_. Winnie Barnes. You must remember.”

Steve’s face suddenly went white. “ _No._ ”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“I—” Steve looked away, eyes searching around the party, even if they weren’t really focusing on anything. When he looked back, Bucky could see the sparkle of unshed tears. “Jamie?”

“Yeah, pal.”

“I gotta go.” 

And just like that, Steve was standing back up, barely keeping his seat from toppling over as he rushed away from the table. Bucky watched him the entire way, as he cut a path through the party guests, heading straight for the exit.

“Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “I think I broke him.”

* * *

His phone had a ping on it the next morning. It wasn’t a new text message though. Instead, it was a message from the push notification from the comic con app that he used. 

**Due to last minute health issues, Steve Rogers has had to cancel his appearance. We wish him all the best and hope he makes a quick recovery. If you bought a photo or autograph with Steve, please check your email for refund information.**

He tried to ignore the ugly feeling in his own stomach, as he turned his phone back off and rolled over to face the wall. He didn’t have to set-up for the con until after noon, so he had plenty of time to wallow in his own misery.


	5. Brazil Comic Con — CCXP

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby!Stucky are the sweetest.
> 
> Also... Steve's feelings are showing again. Whoops?

_”I dare ya.”_

_Steve Rogers had never been accused of backing down from a challenge._

_Jamie Barnes's middle name was_ Challenge.

_He was eleven, when his mom decided he was healthy enough to have his new friend over for a sleepover. It was a bit embarrassing, even if he had no idea how the Barnes family lived, to have someone else see the run-down apartment they were living in and his secondhand clothes and toys, but Jamie didn't seem to care._

_He knew he shouldn't give into the dare, but what good was truth or dare when you said no? “Fine.”_

_With Jamie following along, he stepped up to his door and quietly opened it. It was late and his mom was already tucked away in her room, snoring softly through the thin door. He tiptoed past, down the hall and through the living room. Jamie was hot on his trail. They exited the apartment, making sure to leave the door unlocked so they could get back in, and headed towards the stairs._

_Their apartment was on the fourth floor of the six floor walk-up, so it didn't take long to make it to the door that said ‘Roof Access’ in big bold letters._

_He pushed the door open and stepped out, only to stop and watch as Jamie slid a large heavy bucket over between the door and the wall. When he looked up and saw Steve staring, he shrugged. “Some of these doors lock. Don't wanna spend all night up here, ya know?”_

_“Yeah. Yeah. Okay.” They moved a couple steps out onto the roof and Steve couldn't help but shiver as he stood in the cold and stared at Brooklyn sleeping around them._

_“You gonna?”_

_He didn't want to. He wanted to run back downstairs and curl in his warm bed._

_But Jamie had dared him._

_He stuck his chin out and quickly raced through stripping off his clothes. (Including his underwear because he had been sure to ask if that was part of the dare.) Once he was naked, he glanced quickly at Jamie, before looking back at the rooftop and beginning to run._

_It was cold, yes, but it was also strangely_ thrilling. _He was halfway around the roof before he began screaming and laughing in joy._

_When he got back to the door, he put his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath in the cold. His heart was still racing and he was worried that a little extra exertion was going to turn into a full blown asthma attack. Just as panic started to creep in, the familiar cylinder of his inhaler was pressed into his hand. He took a couple quick puffs and then looked up at Jamie. “Thanks.”_

_“No problem, Flash Gordon.”_

_Ten minutes later he was dressed back in his pajamas and they were once more downstairs in his warm bedroom._

_“I can't believe you actually did that. You're a crazy thing, aren't you?”_

_Steve shrugged. “You wanna watch Star Wars? I got it.” He pointed at his secondhand box tv and the VHS player beneath it._

_Jamie shook his head. “I'm okay.”_

_They were sitting on the bed, backs against the wall and knees barely touching. Silence descended on the room and after a minute, Steve wondered if Jamie was starting to get tired. He opened his mouth, about ready to ask, when Jamie turned to him and cut off the thought._

_“You ever kiss someone, Stevie?”_

_He was about to say_ my mom _when he realized that wasn't the right answer. “No,” he whispered._

_“Do you think… do you think boys are weird if they don’t like girls?”_

__Oh. _“My ma says people love who they love and that’s just how it is. My uh…” He looked down to his hands. “My dad was gay. His family and friends were real strict, though, so he dated ma just to make them happy. Then she got pregnant and he married her. But she said he was only there to help take care of me.”_

_Jamie’s pinky finger brushed out against his. “What happened?”_

_Steve didn’t like talking about his dad. Didn’t like the creeping thought that he would only ever know the man in pictures. “He was at one of those clubs. Some dicks saw him coming out of the club and drug him into the next alley. He probably would have been okay, but the wrong hit made a rib puncture a lung. When they left him… no one found him in time.”_

_“Shit,” Jamie cursed. Jamie pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “It sucks. Knowing you’re different. Wanting to be like everyone else in school and talk about girls, but knowing you’d rather just talk about who you really like.”_

_He got it, he did. Being the oddball at his school had more to do with looks than who he wanted to kiss, but he’d had enough conversations with his mom about his dad’s struggles to know exactly what Jamie was feeling. “You can talk to me.”_

_“But I can’t…”_

_“O’course you can! I would never say nothin’ or judge you for who you like, Jay.”_

_“No I mean… it kinda defeats the purpose of talkin’ about who you wanna kiss, when you’re talkin’ to that person.”_

_Huh. His mouth gaped open and he stared at the blank television screen in silent shock. Him? Jamie wanted to kiss_ him _? But no one wanted to do that! Why would a kid as cool as Jamie want anything to do with him? Most days Steve convinced himself that the only reason they hung out at all, was because of their moms. It wasn’t like they saw each other at school, since they just happened to be living on opposite sides of the school district bordering line._

_“Me?” he whispered._

_“Sorry,” Jamie quickly replied._

_Sorry? Why was he sorry? “Why are you sorry?”_

_He shrugged one shoulder. “Most boys will punch you in the face for telling them you wanna kiss ‘em.”_

_Steve rolled his eyes, turning his body to face Jamie’s. “Do it.”_

_Jamie looked up and blinked rapidly. “What?”_

_“You wanna kiss me, right? Do it.”_

_“But you don’t like boys.”_

_“Says who?”_

_“I—” Jamie stopped, mouth opening and then slamming shut._

_Steve shrugged. “I don’t really care one way or the other? I mean, some girls are cute, sure, but some boys are too. I’m not gonna lim—” His words were cut off. Jamie had leaned over, lips pressing quickly against Steve’s before he pulled back again._

_It was so quick but it was so…_ perfect.

* * *

“Uh… Steve?”

He startled out of the memory like waking up from a particularly intense dream. When he realized that he wasn’t eleven years old and _wasn’t_ sitting next to Jamie ( _Bucky_ ) Barnes, having the sweetest kiss of his life… well, he got a bit sad. 

Especially when he tried to understand why he had freaked out so badly and then immediately needed to run away as fast as possible.

Far. _Far away._

Brazil. (The fact that he was previously scheduled to be there for a convention had nothing to do with it. He would have gone that far to escape, anyway. He would! Okay? Okay.)

He ran a hand over his tired face and focused on Peter. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m here.”

“You’ve got about fifteen minutes before they need you for the Q and A.” Peter held out a perfectly wrapped sandwich. “I got you this, because you won't have much down time.”

“Thanks.” He took the sandwich and though he wasn't particularly hungry, he forced himself to eat it. He also forced himself not to think any more about _Bucky._

* * *

The majority of the questions were going through an interpreter — a method that had taken him extra time to get used to. Steve kept a smile plastered and waited to hear the next question. 

“I know you pride yourself on keeping a very private life away from acting, but I'm curious how it changes a dynamic on set, when there is constant speculation about you dating a costar? Does it make it harder to face them and act opposite of them?”

Personal questions always made him cringe, but he could see why that particular one was being asked. A week before an annoying Hollywood trash mag had reported that he was dating his new co-star Natasha Romanoff, just because they had been photographed together _on set._

“Sometimes I laugh when I see a report come out about me ‘dating a my new co-star.’ I think about all of the males and females that work together every day, all over the world. How often do you see them together at work, just doing their jobs, and immediately say ‘oh yeah, they're dating?’ It doesn't happen. That's what frustrates me about Hollywood and keeps me so private. I get assigned a job, show up and meet a new co-star, like Miss Romanoff, and suddenly a couple days later it’s being reported that we're in a relationship and spend all of our time together.” He shook his head and chuckled softly, looking towards where the fan stood. “The reality is a lot less exciting. I don't date, because I spend the majority of my time traveling or sitting on a film set. During my very rare down time, I want to take oddly timed naps and spend time visiting my family and friends — not go out looking for love. So I am single by choice, and if love wants to find me, it's literally going to have to drop in my lap.”

The crowd laughed at his words and he ducked his head, a blush covering his cheeks. “Okay maybe not quite so literally.”

The rest of the event went fairly normal — staff had probably started screening questions better after that one — and before he knew it he was being walked back to the table for his last round of autographs. He kept his plastered smile in place and tried to give each person a bit of his attention, despite his own problems. He knew that a lot of people there, would never get the chance to see him again. It was a once in a lifetime moment for them, and he had to appreciate that.

The line shifted forward as Peter slid the next item forward to be signed. Steve greeted the young woman, before looking down at the large art print. The image took his breath away. It had recently (finally!) been publicly announced that Steve would be taking on the new comic book movie role. A lot of fans had taken the news and ran with it — but the art in front of him was like nothing he’d seen before.

It was a portrait of him in character, dressed in a dark blue uniform with a white star on the chest and white striping. It was a specialty suit that had made an appearance in one of his favorite comic books. “This is amazing? Did you draw this?”

The fan shook her head. “No. I saw it online and really loved the art, so I messaged the artist and asked them if I could print it and have it signed.”

Steve’s eyes moved down to the corner of the print where he saw the artist’s signature. A fluidly written _’Bucky.’_ His jaw dropped open, and he waited a moment before asking, “Bucky Barnes?”

“Yes! You know him?”

“I do.” Steve smiled, a genuine smile because he was so secretly pleased, as he autographed the print. Once he was done, he looked back up at the fan. “Tell him I love it, okay? He’s got a lot of talent. That outfit is one of my favorites from the comics.”

The fan carefully took the print and nodded her head. “I will! I promised him I would scan a copy of the print as a thanks. He wouldn’t let me pay him for it. I printed out two copies, hoping I could get the second signed and shipped to him, but you know…” she ducked her head, “Money is always tight when you want to do something nice like that.”

Steve motioned to the large portfolio style bag she was holding. “Do you have it here? I’ll sign it. No charge.”

She looked nervously between Steve and Peter. “Are you sure? They said one item per fan—”

“Positive. I signed something for Bucky before, but it wasn't his art. I’d love to personalize it for him.”

She quickly switched out the already signed print, for one that looked identical, only minus his name. Steve appreciated the art for another quick moment, before signing along the bottom.

_**To Bucky,** _

_**My fave.** _

_**Steve Rogers** _

Before he let the fan take the print back, he pulled out his wallet, taking out fifty dollars and laying it down on the print, as he slid it back across the table.

“To help with shipping costs, okay?”

“I—”

“Enjoy the convention. Tell Bucky I said hi.”


	6. Wizard World New Orleans, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to [zutarabeliever-art](http://zutarabeliever-art.tumblr.com/) for the art provided at the end of this. I commissioned her last week and she definitely didn't disappoint!

Steve had kinda figured that when Bucky received the signed poster, he might send a text. Which was probably a little bit wishful thinking on his part. After the way he had ran out in New York, why would Bucky suddenly want to make the first move?

What he wasn't expecting was to walk into LAX, find the terminal for his flight to New Orleans, and spot an all too familiar face sitting there. Bucky was against the wall of windows, not even paying attention to the world as he scribbled on his tablet. 

Steve looked down at his boarding pass, eyes tracking to the first class seat that had been booked for him through the agency. Without a second thought, he moved over to the counter and gave the young woman his best flirty smile.

* * *

Bucky finished the last touch-ups on a commission piece, just in time for them to call boarding on his flight. He secured his pen to his tablet and slid it back into his backpack.

LAX was not his favorite airport, by a long shot, but the cheapest flight to Louisiana had come with a layover. At least it gave him a couple hours of uninterrupted time to get some work done. Sam and Clint had recently started a ‘thing’ and because of it Bucky hadn't gotten much quiet time recently. If they weren't having sex, they were in the living room arguing over movie choices.

It was exhausting, even if they did seem to be an oddly correct match.

Gathering his backpack, he pulled his boarding pass out and stood in line once his section was called. When he got up to the lady and she took his pass to scan, she paused, looking from it, back up to him with a weird smile. _Ooookay._ He tucked the paper back in his pocket and walked down to the plane.

It took a few minutes — one old man didn't want to get out of his aisle seat and let the person in to sit by the window — but finally he made it to row 26 and moved into seat F against the window. He tucked his backpack beneath the seat in front of him and pulled his head phones out to tuck into the seatback pocket. He wasn't a big fan of listening to music on a plane — he'd rather pull his tablet back out — but he was always ready in case of a nosey seatmate. His flight from Portland to LA had been packed with a bunch of annoying frat boys that just wouldn't _shut. up._

He was just contemplating whether to pull his tablet out and have it within easy reach, when a bulky form sat down in the middle seat next to him. Bucky ducked his head, avoiding making eye contact while he let the person shuffle around and get settled. 

It took a couple of minutes, but finally the person seemed settled down. Bucky was _not_ staring at bulky thighs and imagining dirty things. He just wasn't! Okay? Okay.

“Come here often?”

He was about to roll his eyes at the completely predictable line, when he realized that he _knew_ that voice. He knew those thighs! He looked up into familiar blue eyes. _”Steve.”_

“Hey Buck.” 

He watched a tiny old lady sit in the aisle seat on Steve's other side. Why was he there? “Why are you here?”

“Flying to Wizard World. I assume you are too?”

“Yeah. But—” He looked around the plane, before motioning towards the front. “Why aren't you in first class?”

Steve smiled shyly, ducking his head down a bit. “I may have seen you in the terminal and asked them to switch my seat with the lady who was here.”

No way. “You gave up a first class seat to sit back here by me? Back in the slums?”

He shrugged like it was no big thing. “I wanted the chance to talk to you. Did you get the print I signed for you?”

Bucky immediately thought about the newly framed print hanging on his wall. He had gone back and forth in his head about whether to text Steve after the package arrived, but eventually got distracted by convention prep and it was all forgotten. Whoops. “Yeah, I meant to text you and say thank you, but I got busy getting things ready for this convention.”

They were both quiet for a few moments while the safety instructions were given. Once that was done, Steve nudged his elbow. “It's okay. After last time, I wasn't expecting a reply. I'm sorry about that. I just… well, you know about my mom. I try not to think about it a lot.”

Bucky nodded in understanding. He had spent most of that evening chatting with his mom about all that had gone down when Sarah Rogers was murdered. It had been a mess, and he could remember how he felt standing beside a grave and watching Steve wipe away his tears. 

Bucky reached out, laying his hand over Steve's, thumb brushing just slightly over the top of Steve's hand. “Mom wants you to call her one day. She made me swear that if I saw you again, I'd give you her number.”

“I'd like that.” Steve replied with a soft smile. “I remember how sweet she was during everything. I wanted so many times to go back… even when I was an adult, but then I’d remember those last few days… and I just _couldn’t._ ”

“Understandable.”

“Work sends me to Manhattan all the time now, but I still avoid Brooklyn like the plague. Hey so—”

* * *

The flight from LAX to New Orleans was scheduled for three hours and forty-five minutes… and Bucky talked with Steve for almost all of it. Pausing only long enough for one of them to take a quick trip to the bathroom. 

The thing was… the conversations weren’t particularly _exciting._ It was a lot of just ‘how has life been the past few years’ and ‘what is it like being a celebrity.’ It was a bit of a surprise to Bucky to find that he and Steve still had quite a bit in common. And what had started as a ‘celebrity crush’ was suddenly morphing into something a little more significant. 

They exited the plane, and Bucky had his backpack on as Steve walked with a backpack and a rolling suitcase trailing behind him. “You fit everything you need for the weekend in that?” Bucky asked, motioning to the suitcase.

Steve chuckled, nodding his head. “You learn to pack light when you have to do these trips all of the time. I’m just lucky I don’t have an assistant following along behind me this week. Peter asked for a couple weeks to take his aunt on vacation for her birthday.”

Checking the sign for directions to baggage claim, Bucky sighed. “I wish I could pack light. I’ve got three large bags waiting for me, with all of my merch in it.” He pulled his phone out, having forgotten all about it while on the plane with Steve, and turned the device back on. Once airplane mode was off, his phone was quiet for a moment, before it suddenly erupted with a bunch of notifications.

`**Laila:** Buck, I know you’re on the plane, but I’m gonna send this now, so you get it as soon as possible.`

`**Laila:** I went to leave for the con and got word that Steph had been in a car accident. I’m here with her now. `

`**Laila:** She’s fine, but has a few broken bones and we aren’t going to make it, obvs. God, I feel so bad! I hope you can find a last minute fill in!`

`**Laila:** Let me know when you get this and get settled!`

“Buck?”

He blinked, looking up at Steve, who had stopped and turned around to stare at him in confusion. Then it occurred to Bucky that he was standing in the middle of the airport terminal, being passed by numerous folks, and looking absolutely lost. He _must_ look lost, because he definitely _felt_ lost. It was _Wednesday!_ He had flown in a day early just so that he could spend time with his friends Laila and Stephanie — the same friends he was supposed to be _sharing a hotel room with_ — and now he was stuck in a city he’d never been to, without a hotel or the money to pay for his own room. 

He looked up again, and suddenly realized that when he blinked, he was blinking away tears. _Shit._

Steve moved forward, leaving his suitcase sitting a couple feet away, while he laid his strong hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

“I… I…” He shook his head, feeling stupid for getting so worked up over something so insignificant. But it was scary, to be there where he knew no one and nothing about the area around where the convention was going to be held… what if he settled and found a cheap hotel that he could afford, and it was an hour from the convention center? He definitely didn’t have money to rent a car or take an Uber every day! “Fuck.” He looked down at his phone and watched tears drop onto the device. “My friends that I was going to room with, had to cancel. Usually it isn’t a big deal… I do conventions where I know the city and know where to stay. But I haven’t been here before. I don’t know where to stay! I don’t… my damn car needed new tires last week so I just had enough money to squeak by until the convention. What the fuck am I going to do? I can’t sleep at the convention!”

He was suddenly pulled forward into a tight hug. “Take a deep breath, Buck, it’s okay. We’ve got this, okay?” Steve pulled back and smiled. “These companies always book me ginormous suites… usually with multiple rooms and beds. Just come stay with me. They send a car to use for getting around. We’ll be fine, okay?”

“But—” It couldn’t be that easy. “I can’t afford—”

“The room is free.”

 _”Oh.”_ He shook his head. “What about set up? I have to go tomorrow night to set up my booth. And it’s only Wednesday! You really want to put up with my shit a whole extra day?”

Steve light smacked his shoulder, before going to grab his suitcase. “It’ll be fun! Just like old times. Oh! We could Facetime with your mom one night. I’m sure she’d love that.”

“I don’t think she knows what that is,” Bucky mumbled, trailing along behind Steve.

“We should go get your bags. I’m sure my driver is wondering where I am. Hey, do you think they have a New York pizza place somewhere around here? God, I would kill for a good slice of pie.”

What even was his life?

* * *


	7. Wizard World New Orleans, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why this chapter decided to be so difficult... but it definitely was. BLUGH. Sorry for the delay, guys!

Bucky had read enough fanfic (of course he had, he wasn't a saint!) to know exactly how things were going to go.

It was the _there's only one bed_ trope and he was _living_ it.

Which is maybe why he was a bit disappointed when he followed Steve through the door of his room, only to find that it was a two bedroom suite. _Huh._ Definitely not what he was expecting.

He moved his suitcases full of merch to an out of the way spot, before taking his bag of clothes into the room Steve didn't take. 

Steve was on his phone — it had rang while they were still on the elevator and Steve had taken the call with an apologetic look towards Bucky — so Bucky stood there awkwardly while Steve went into the other room and continued chatting with whoever was on the phone.

_What do I do now?_

He decided to move into the living room and pull out his phone, quickly spending a few minutes texting Sam updates of what had transpired at the airport. Based on his replies, Sam was equal parts surprised and amused. Okay, probably just amused. 

Asshole.

"Hey.” 

Bucky looked up to see Steve walking back out of his chosen bedroom, phone tucked back into his pocket. "Hey.”

“That was just my agent going over the schedule for the weekend. I'm actually not scheduled for anything until Saturday… when I booked this trip, it was with the plan of scouting out locations for a movie idea, so I made sure I had extra days and fewer commitments. But now that production is on hold and I'm going to have a lot of free time. So if it's cool with you… I was hoping I could help you set up tomorrow and then spend Friday with you at your booth. I never get the chance to really _experience_ the fan side of conventions. I'm always being rushed from the autograph booth to the photo-op room. Hell some days it's all I can do to make them feed me.”

Steve was rambling a bit, Bucky noticed, and it dawned on him that Steve was _nervous._ Like he expected Bucky to say no. Interesting. 

“You realize that once people notice you're there, it's going to be a mess of fans stopping to talk and get pictures and autographs, right?”

“Yeah! So that's why I was thinking… is there a way we could order extra of your prints from my new movie? I'll pay to have them overnighted or whatever. But I was thinking that people who wanted my autograph... I could tell them I'm only signing those prints, if they buy one. Help you out, you know?”

Bucky's eyes got a bit wide at that. He could just imagine how crazy his sells would be if that happened. He might actually have the money to add a couple more conventions to his roster for the year. “We would just need to find a FedEx office. I could have extras printed off there.”

“We can do that today!”

* * *

They spent the afternoon at the FedEx store, doing a bulk print-off of everything that Bucky had drawn with Steve's face on it… which was a surprisingly large amount. The people working looked at them like they were insane, but didn't say anything about it. Midway through print jobs, Steve showed up with a blank donation box they were selling. 

“I was thinking we could make a sign… and people who make a donation can get a photo.” 

Bucky nodded, pulling his tablet closer. “What charity? I'll make up a quick thing with their logo.”

Steve's cheeks colored a bit. “Oh, um… Madelyn's House?” 

He paused, tablet pen held mid air over the screen as he realized what Steve said. _Madelyn's House_ was a local charity back in Brooklyn that supported at risk LGBTQ youth in the community. Bucky had volunteered there as a teenager -- a fact that Steve wouldn't know, since he hadn't been around. He was shocked, though, that Steve so openly supported a charity that most actors would fear publicly endorsing. 

He finally looked up, giving Steve a soft smile. “I think that's a great idea.”

From the print store, they decided to stop for dinner in the French Quarter, where Bucky happily ordered a po'boy sandwich and watched Steve shelling an absolute mound of crawfish. For appetizers, just for kicks, Steve had ordered gator stuffed mushrooms and dared Bucky to try one. (Not bad, actually. Bit spicy.)

When they were done, they carried a bag with dessert (triple chocolate cake) and wandered a bit through the crowds as they walked back towards the car. Bucky had to admit… the whole atmosphere screamed _date_ , even if his brain knew better.

* * *

He slept in his own room that night. Because his life wasn't a fanfic, despite the celebrity that had started following him around. 

The next morning they ate breakfast at the hotel and then took the car and all of Bucky's merch over to the convention center. When he got signed in for his booth, out of habit he handed off the extra vendor badge to Steve, then stopped and turned to look at the man again (who was holding the lanyard in the air and staring at it with glee in his eyes). “I wonder if they would stop you, if you didn't have a pass.”

Steve and Bucky both looked towards the volunteer who was checking them and and obviously trying not to freak out over Steve being there. The girl shrugged, keeping her head ducked. “Honestly? Probably not.”

“Too bad. I appreciate the rules.” Steve put the lanyard on with a grin. “And for the next two days… I'm just a vendor.”

They were twenty minutes into setting up the booth (Bucky kept drawings of how he liked things arranged, so he wouldn't forget, and Steve was perfectly placing every item like a fucking boy scout), when a short balding man walked up and cleared his throat. They both turned to him, and Bucky immediately recognized him as one of the show bosses. 

“Ahem, Mr. Rogers—”

“ _Steve._ ”

“Very well. _Steve._ I've come to inform you that none of this is a part of the negotiated contract. We can't possibly find the extra man power to provide security at this particular booth for the duration of the convention.”

Steve shrugged. “No worries. I think Bucky and I will be fine on our own.”

“But sir…” the man lowered his voice. “This is highly unorthodox. None of our celebrities have ever done this! How are we supposed to make our required autograph and photo sales if you are here giving things away for free?”

“I—”

Bucky couldn't help interrupting, “Shouldn't be a problem. Considering you've been sold out since last week.”

The man guffawed as Steve crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you trying to bully me, sir? Because I'm not a big fan of bullies.”

Suddenly the man wasn't as concerned about the whole mess. He wished them both good luck, before making a quick excuse and hurrying away. Steve watched the guy for another minute, before turning to Bucky and winking.

* * *

They ordered pizza delivery for dinner, once they were back at the hotel. Steve had also stopped off at a nearby 7-11 to buy a couple six packs of beer. It was a very lowkey way to spend the evening, but left things feeling a lot more relaxed. Bucky didn't feel like he needed to impress anyone by being on his best behavior. 

It was obviously helping to keep Steve relaxed as well, because two beers in, he was waxing poetic about how much he loved the creation of movies… but _hated_ being a movie star. “It’s too much business, you know? The writers and directors, they actually get to _create._ But if you want to get a good job as a director and not just be working half-bit films, you have to make a name for yourself first. The whole fucking process is exhausting.”

Bucky frowned, lips around his own bottle of beer as he pondered his friend’s words. After a quick swallow of amber liquid, he asked, “What made you start acting?”

“My aunt Peggy, the one that took me in after mom, she was a silver screen starlet. She thought I had potential, but didn’t want to force me, so she said I could do one gig, and if I hated it, I could quit.” Steve frowned. “Back then I loved it. It was new and exciting and I was too young and dumb to see the man behind the curtain and all of his bullshit.”

“I can only imagine. I've been friends with some actors that do strictly Portland gigs, and they're adamant that they'll never move to LA. One of them landed a gig in Vancouver a while back — the scene up there seems to be a lot like Portland, less drama and attention, more ability to focus on the craft.”

Steve set his empty plate of food down on the coffee table, before snuggling down into the couch a bit, resting his head back. “I’ve thought about that. Moving up there and working in a more relaxed environment.” He moved a hand out to nudge Bucky's leg. "Or Portland. I'm finding quite a few reasons to visit Portland these days.”

 _Me?_ Bucky jumped up from the couch. “Want another beer?”

“Please!”

An hour later they were almost out of beer and it was starting to show. The couch had apparently shrunk in size, because Steve was pressed up tight against Bucky’s side, laughing at the John Mulaney comedy special that was playing on the television.

His laugh was adorable.

“Your laugh is adorable.”

_Oh shit._

The problem with beer was… Bucky started losing control of his tongue. (Okay, so all alcohol.) He was a happy drunk, yes, but Clint and Sam both knew well that if Bucky was keeping secrets, a few Deschutes Brewery Porters and he was an open book.

Steve Rogers apparently had the same problem, because at Bucky’s words, he turned his head and smiled. “ _You_ are adorable.”

And then something crazy (but mostly predictable) happened. They kissed. Noses bumping, lips dry and a bit chapped… it was the most terribly good drunken kiss that Bucky had ever experienced. When they broke apart, Bucky bit back a happy (and embarrassing as fuck) giggle and reached up to grab Steve’s shirt and pull him close for another kiss.

They made out through the rest of the comedy special, until Bucky got brave and let his hand drift down to palm over the hard outline of Steve’s dick. 

It was like the touch electrocuted Steve, because suddenly he was pushing Bucky away and standing up, practically tripping over the coffee table as he stumbled away. “I gotta…” he motioned over his shoulder at his bedroom door. “I gotta go to bed. You should too. Busy day tomorrow. Goodnight Bucky!”

The door slammed shut and Bucky sat on the sofa, still blinking in confusion.

What the _fuck_ had just happened?!


	8. Wizard World New Orleans, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey so this has been stalled... like I had half of the chapter written and then forgot the idea I had talked out with a friend? And after a few frustrating months of trying to remember the idea, I said fuck it and changed the plan for the chapter altogether. :shrug:

Breakfast and the ride to the convention center were both awkwardly silent the next morning. And Bucky had survived the Great-Hangover-of-’09, so he knew it couldn’t be blamed on the alcohol. At least, not on his side of things. What Steve was feeling was a completely different can of worms. He almost acted like a different person. 

A fact that became especially apparent when the show floor opened and groups of people started to flock to their booth. Steve had pasted on what could only be described as a ‘paparazzi smile’... one that didn’t reach all of the way to his eyes, and reminded Bucky of his days working customer service. 

Fake. It was all… (sigh) _fake_.

There was nothing that could be distinguished as a particularly bad mood, though. In fact, Steve continued to talk up Bucky’s art with every person that stepped in front of him. Bucky made more in that first day, than he had in any convention prior. Not only that, but they had to empty the charity bucket at least three times. When Bucky got back to the booth after going to fetch lunch, five items (all distinctly _not_ featuring Steve), had ‘sold out’ stickers on them. 

Steve, for just a moment, looked like the man that Bucky had spent the previous day with. “I didn’t know if you liked to sell the display versions, or not, so I just put a sticker up and convinced people to buy other items.”

_Shit._ “We might need to take another trip to Kinkos.”

* * *

He ordered more prints online, that they picked up on their way back to the hotel. They also made a quick stop at the bank so that Bucky wouldn't be walking around with literally _thousands_ of dollars more than normal. When they finally got to the hotel parking lot, he didn't immediately open his door, causing both of them to sit in the car in silence for a moment. 

Finally, Bucky said, "I can change rooms."

It seemed to jolt Steve, who looked over with a frown on his face. "What?"

"The money. I can get my own room for the rest of the weekend, if you want. Use an uber to get back and forth. I can get out of your hair—"

"Why would you…"

Bucky finally looked over at Steve, feeling just the slightest bit confused. Steve had spent most of the day avoiding being personable with him. Why wouldn't he? It was obvious that Steve had gone to a place he didn't want to go, with the previous night's kiss. "Not me. I thought that would make things easier for you. Last night—" He stopped, shook his head. "It was too much. I get it. It's fine. And you're gonna be busy the rest of the show. So why not?"

Steve made a slight huffing sound, then reached his hand up to rub at the spot between his eyes. "Ughh," he groaned softly.

"Wha—"

"I fucked up," Steve finally announced. He looked quickly at Bucky, before training his gaze intently on the steering wheel. "I fucked up real bad. I'm just… okay so I have this new movie contract, right?"

" _Right._ " What did that have to do…

"Says explicitly that any bad press can result in a breach of contract. Anything." He waved a hand, but continued. "Including suddenly allowing the public to know that you're on some spectrum between gay and bisexual."

_Fucking gross,_ Bucky thought. "That's…"

"Fucked up, I know. It's mostly bullshit, but the company is a family-centric production company and that is the life in Hollywood. Some are making strides, and I would like to be just like them, but I'm fucking scared, ya know? This is my job. My career. The only thing I'm fucking good at. And someone finding out that I like guys can completely trash all of that and then what do I do?"

Bucky thought about an answer for a long quiet moment, before he finally began to speak. "So, imagine for a moment that instead of who you are, you are a sixteen year old queer kid in the midwest. You've spent most of your life hiding who you are, being abused by bullies who don't even _know_ your sexual preference, but still hate you for being different. You can't tell your parents. You can't tell your friends. You've never seen a movie that has a relatable gay character." He clenched his fist and took a few deep breaths. It did him no good to get worked up, even if his own words made him angry. "What does Steve Rogers tell that kid? Do you tell him you're scared? You're just one person, yes, you can't change _everything_ , but does someone with your voice, your ability to garner attention… do you hurt that kid or help him, when you hide who you are?"

Bucky hadn't been looking at Steve as he spoke, but he finally glanced across the car. When he saw the emotion in Steve's eyes… the glistening of tears just begging to fall, he sighed and turned away again. Steve didn't respond, so Bucky continued, "No one can make the choice but you, Steve. I don't envy you having to do it and live with the consequences. And I understand the fear of being gay in a society like the one we live in. But I used to hide who I was. For a lot of years I was afraid. But I can't be that person anymore. So I'll be your friend. I'll love you like a brother, the same as I do all my other friends, and that'll be the extent of us."

He waited in silence another moment, before finally climbing out of the car. He grabbed his things from the backseat and headed inside the hotel, not at all surprised that Steve didn't follow. When he stepped in front of the front desk, he hesitated only a moment before asking one of the women standing there if there was a cheap room deal he could get for a couple nights. 

Unfortunately, when he was told the price of the rooms, he pursed his lips and tried to keep from letting his heart pound out of his chest, as he shook his head and told the woman he’d think about it. It wasn’t that he couldn’t _afford_ it, with the extra money in his pocket from that day’s sales, it was just that the idea of spending one month’s rent on two nights in a hotel actually made him _ill._

So he went upstairs to Steve’s empty suite and left his bag on the couch as he took a nice long relaxing shower. If Steve wanted him out later, Bucky would pack up and catch a ride to a nearby Best Western or something.

When he was done with his shower, he got dressed in a pair of sweatpants and an old college shirt of Sam's, before walking back out into the living room area. Steve sat on the edge of the sofa, head in his hands. Part of Bucky wanted to apologize but the other part knew that he was probably the only person who had the ability to tell Steve the truth. Most people wouldn't have the nerve.

"I don't know what to do," Steve whispered. "This is all I've ever been. The thought of anything else is… terrifying."

Bucky moved over, sitting down on the coffee table, so that he was directly in front of Steve. Tentatively, he grasped Steve’s hands and pulled them close. Steve blinked, met his gaze. 

The pain in that look was almost palpable. "I'm sorry," Bucky finally conceded. "I meant what I said, but I also get that is way easier said than done. One of the biggest taboos in the LGBT community is forcing someone else's 'coming out' on them."

“I want to—”

Bucky nodded, bringing Steve’s hands up to kiss each finger gently. “I know. But it isn’t that easy, is it?”

“No.”

“At least you have people to help you along the way. Maybe the goal isn’t to start big? Maybe telling one person that you trust, will make the bigger steps easier?”

* * *

Saturday at the convention was a lot less exciting than Friday had been. He was still getting a _lot_ more attention than normal (Steve had stocked the booth with stacks upon stacks of autographed items), but the hustle and bustle of having a celebrity there was gone. 

Until about noon, when suddenly Steve appeared with a hoard of followers — mostly security guards, but also a gaggle of fans. Steve snuck through the interior aisle between the booths and happily sat down in the seat he had used the prior day. Bucky looked from the in progress art that he had been scribbling at while in between sales, up to Steve’s beaming face.

“Lunch break,” Steve explained. He held his right hand out and a volunteer placed a bag from Jimmy John’s in it. “Can you believe they wanted me to spend it stuck in a windowless room in the back?”

“The audacity,” Bucky mused. When he glanced back to the space in front of his booth, it was suddenly filled with people that had apparently appeared out of thin air. “Oh shit,” he mumbled.

Steve laughed. “I brought some of my friends, from the panel a few minutes ago. I hope you don’t mind.”

Bucky glimpsed quickly over to the crowd, before raising his eyebrow at Steve. “Just a few?”

“Well someone asked about yesterday… who you were, how we knew each other. So after talking about you and your art for a while, I might have mentioned that there were quite a few extra prints that were ordered last night and could use new homes.”

“I hope you intend to help me with all of these new friends.”

“I’m here for two hours. I also brought you a sandwich.”

Bucky focused on the customers. “Did Steve tell you guys about his excellent stick figure drawings?”

* * *

That night, they stepped into the hotel suite after a quick stop off for dinner (with all of the other celebrities from the convention — talk about surreal) and immediately kicked off shoes and tossed aside jackets. 

They were still standing in the entryway of the room, though. Bucky opened his mouth, ready to say that he was going to change into his pajamas, when suddenly Steve moved. In the blink of an eye, Steve was in front of him, in his personal space, pushing him back against the wall.

“Buck—”

His heart raced, and he forced his gaze away from Steve’s lips to look into those familiar blue eyes. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay,” he whispered. Because honestly… what else was there to say to that?

They made out against the wall for an exceptionally great amount of time, before Steve finally pulled back. His lips were swollen, hair a mess. There was something in his eyes… some kind of emotion that Bucky couldn't quite pinpoint. "I hate to cut this short but I have to be up first thing in the morning for that meet and greet."

_Right._ It was already late and he had to be up early as well. Bucky nodded. "Bedtime."

"Yeah." Steve moved to step away, before coming back to place a gentle kiss on Bucky's cheek. "G'night, Buck."


	9. Wizard World Portland

It was in the middle of the living room, with Bucky’s head laying on Sam’s bare stomach, that he explained to Sam and Clint what had happened over the weekend. Thanks to Steve’s efforts of extra sales, Bucky was three months ahead on rent and actually considering cutting off his hours at the bar. He was even getting swamped with jobs online, which meant that the ability to laze around on the floor with his friends was about to disappear.

“He sounds like an okay guy,” Clint mused. Clint had taken up residence on the sofa, stretched out as much as possible and purring as loud as Pudding was on his chest. Bucky didn’t have to see the red of his eyes to know that Clint was _high._ Every few minutes he would mumble a soft _’happy kitty’_ to Pudding, probably with the thought that Bucky and Sam couldn’t hear them.

Sam’s stomach moved gently as he said, “I think he’s a dick.”

Well… that was interesting. Sam was always so keen to convince Bucky to go after the things he wanted, that it was weird to hear him be so blatantly against Steve. Bucky turned his head to look up at his best friend. "Really?"

"I don't see it going well, Jay. Coming out is one of the hardest things a queer person faces, and this guy has to do it in front of the world? With the possibility that it might ruin his career? He's not going to go for it. He might tell a friend, or something, but he isn't going to tell the world. So you'll just be stuck forever as a dirty secret."

Well if there was one thing Sam was good at, it was laying out his honest opinion. He said what needed to be said, without fear of upsetting the person who needed to hear it.

And yeah… Bucky probably needed to hear that.

* * *

There was a weird dynamic surrounding his booth at Wizard World Portland. He had been excited to be back at a convention close to home so he could sell a wider variety of items and also work on his commissions during down time.

But, Steve was not at Wizard World Portland. According to the chain of text messages they had exchanged, Steve was filming reshoots for a movie that would be released later in the year. Honestly, Bucky was happy to have some time free of the 'celebrity status' that followed Steve. He liked the man, but the crowds of fans were a bit overwhelming. 

The problem was… just because there was no Steve, didn't mean there were no fans. Bucky's booth was still the busiest in Artist Alley, and about eighty percent of those people walked up and got momentarily sad when they realized Steve had been replaced with a grumpy dreadlocked Sam (who hated crowds and also was being forced to cut back on caffeine thanks to a doctor request).

Bucky had brought back about ninety prints with Steve's signature on them, from New Orleans, but those sold out within a matter of hours. Now the fans that couldn't get an autograph were trying to weasel information about Steve out of him.

By the end of day _one_ he was utterly exhausted with all of it, and calling in a favor.

Day two, Sam and Clint ran the booth and Bucky stayed home in his peacefully quiet apartment doing commissions and snuggling Pudding and Lucky.

* * *

Sometimes there were phone calls. Most of the time it was texting. But sometimes… well, Bucky appreciated getting to hear Steve's voice. So a couple weeks after the show in Portland, Bucky wasn't surprised when Steve called midway through the day. They caught up on recent events, Steve told obnoxious stories about his assistant, and Bucky talked about his latest commission piece.

After about an hour of chatting, Steve got quiet for a moment before finally saying in a soft voice, "Hey, so I have a question."

Bucky erased some of his linework, waiting until he was done before focusing back. "Yeah, what's up?" 

"So my friend Tony has been working on his first film as a writer slash director and it premieres this weekend. I was wondering if you wanted to fly down and go with me."

Bucky wasn't sure he had ever heard Steve sound so nervous. He looked up, checking his calendar on the wall for what he had going. He had cut back at Natasha's, telling her he was only available as needed for large events and holidays. So most of what he had going was commissions and prep for Emerald City in a month. He had the extra money, thanks to an uptick in sales. He could probably take some commission work with him…

While waiting for an answer, Steve started to ramble on the other end of the line. "You could stay in the spare room here, if you like. Or I could get you a room at the Marriott up the road. And I have some extra miles with Delta so you wouldn't have to pay for your flight. It's just… well you told me to tell someone I trusted? I told Tony. I told him everything. And now he wants to meet you. Even though I didn't say we were—"

Bucky chuckled. "Steve, please stop. Before you hurt yourself."

"Oh."

"I can come for a few days. I'll have to bring my commission stuff with me."

Steve's voice sounded almost giddy as he asked, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Awesome. I'll find a flight and send you the info. Should I get a hotel room set up?"

"Nah, I can stay at yours."

* * *

They discussed it and decided on six days. Bucky would spend six days in Los Angeles. Fly down Tuesday morning, fly home Sunday evening. Sam gave him a _look_ about the whole thing. Bucky knew what it meant. Sam didn't approve — and that was _fine_. Bucky hadn't approved of Riley, the air force pilot that ghosted Sam after two months of dating. Sometimes friends didn't approve. 

But he still had to go. Had to _try._

Tuesday when he arrived at LAX, the place was as busy as it always was. Steve had said that he hoped to be done filming in time to pick Bucky up, but according to the text message received while he was in the air, Steve hadn't gotten that lucky. No big deal. Bucky grabbed stopped near baggage claim and pulled his phone out, ready to grab an Uber and be on his way.

"Bucky Barnes, I presume?"

He blinked, looking up in surprise at the sound of his name. The man standing across from him was wearing designer… well, everything. But the fancy square sunglasses did nothing to hide his identity. "Tony fucking Stark?!"

"And Stevie thought you wouldn't know me!" Tony glanced around, before motioning to the doors. "Come on. My driver is right outside. You're lucky you brought that atrociously designed suitcase or you wouldn't get this kind of treatment."

Bucky tucked his phone away and grabbed the handle of said suitcase — Sam had painted it while drunk, so it was a masterpiece of ugly colored swirls, but Bucky was fond of it — and followed _Tony Stark_ out of the airport. As they stepped out into the LA heat, Tony walked like he owned the place, towards a black town car where someone was waiting to open the door. The driver took his suitcase and loaded it into the trunk, but Bucky held onto his backpack, leaving it by his feet when he sat down next to Tony in the backseat.

It dawned on him that Steve’s ‘buddy’ Tony, was obviously this Tony… Tony Stark, billionaire, playboy, genius, and newly minted Hollywood director. He had seen mentions of the story on twitter; something about the genius getting bored with tech design and starting up his own production company as a side project. 

But none of that explained why he was at LAX to pick up Bucky. “I don’t understand why you’re here? Did you lose a bet to Steve?”

Stark laughed, attention still focused on his phone as they left the airport. “No. Just lucky timing, actually. I just dropped off my girlfriend to go back to New York, and her flight out coincided with your arrival. Steve talked about you flying down last night at dinner, and I suggested this. I owe him big, since he’s one of the few that actually listened when I decided to get into movies.”

“Huh.” Bucky leaned back in the plush leather seat and watched out the window as they moved towards traffic on the freeway. “I didn’t realize he knew you.”

“We grew up together, actually. His aunt worked for my father.” Tony finally put his phone down and focused on Bucky. “I hear you knew him back then too.”

“I did.”

A smirk grew on Tony’s face. “Tiny little shrimp, wasn’t he?”

“With the fighting spirit of a lion.”

That made Tony laugh. “Yep. Hey, so Stevie says he’s filming until two, why don’t we go to lunch? I’m certain that we need to discuss a few things.”

“Oh? Is this where you threaten me? Not to hurt Steve?”

Stark winked. “We’ll get there.”

* * *

Bucky wasn’t expecting it, but he actually enjoyed going to lunch with Tony. The older man was very likable and had a very sarcastic sense of humor. Even still, he was happy when the car finally dropped him off at Steve’s house in the hills. According to a message he had received during lunch, Steve would be there within the hour. He sent Bucky the code for the door, though. 

“I will _not_ snoop,” Bucky mumbled to himself, using the code to open the front door and rolling his suitcase into the house. As soon as he shut the door, he heard the pattering of fast feet flying towards him, as well as a few happy barks. _Uh oh._

A pile of fur slammed into him, knocking him back against the wall and happily licking and woofing at him. “You must be Cap. I’ve heard so much about you. Yes. Yes. I love you too. Down? Down!”

The dog sat back, tail thumping happily against the floor as he stared at Bucky. “Okay, okay. Steve said you might want a treat when I got here. Do you know where the treats are?” The dog answered with a woof and ran off down the hall. Bucky left his suitcase by the door and followed the dog into the kitchen. Cap’s nose was stuck a couple inches into a cupboard beneath the sink, sniffing loudly. The cupboard door had a child lock on it — thus keeping Cap from getting farther than two inches — which Bucky fiddled with until the door popped open. Cap sniffed at every available treat bag, before grabbing his favorite and pulling it out, dropping it on the floor by Bucky’s feet. “I get the feeling _someone_ is a little spoiled.” He gave the dog one of the treats, before putting them away. “How about we find the backyard?”

Some forty odd minutes later, that is where Steve finds them. Bucky is laying on his back in the grass, the shade of a tree keeping him out of the sun, and Cap is snoring loudly, his head on Bucky's left thigh. When the sliding door opens, Cap and Bucky both raise their heads to check, before simultaneously laying back down.

"Man, I always knew my dog loved others more than me, but this is ridiculous." Steve moved across the lawn, dropping down on his knees by Cap, giving his head an affectionate ruffle. 

"I'm very lovable," Bucky mumbled. A moment later, Steve dropped onto the grass to lay next to him. Bucky turned his head, smiling fondly at Steve. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." Steve leaned forward, kissing Bucky on the nose. "Have a good flight?"

"I did. Then I was kidnapped at the airport for interrogation over tiramisu."

"I heard." Bucky dropped onto his back, hooking his arm around Steve to pull him closer. When Steve was hovering over him, Bucky stole a real kiss, followed by another. Steve moaned, moving kisses from Bucky's lips to his ear. "I missed you. Thank you for coming."

"Nowhere else I'd rather be," Bucky replied.

Famous last words of a fool.

**Author's Note:**

> ALSO... fyi, I am a writer that benefits from being prodded. This usually comes in the form of comments, yes, but sometimes I enjoy a more personalized experience. (Wow that got creepy fast.) Essentially, I'm always on the lookout for friendly people that would like to sit in Google Docs and poke at me to keep writing, and also make general comments as the fic is being produced. You'd be amazed at how quickly my output skyrockets when this happens! Want to be this person? Track me down on [tumblr](http://archofimagine.tumblr.com) and send a message! (Or comment here, if tumblr is being an ass potato.)


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